Work

How to tell your boss "no" without ever saying it

We’ve got six phrases that let you disagree with your boss and keep your job.

"Well, sir, that's a stupid idea." We can't say it, but sometimes you need to find a way to get the message across before the stupid idea becomes your stupid project. Between the power dynamic, the egos on the line, and the general awkwardness of correcting the person who signs your timesheet, most of us just nod and brace for impact.

Erik Barnes explains there's a diplomatic workaround, and it never requires the words "no," "you're wrong," or "have you considered a different career." He rounded up six phrases from a tech career coach and an HR director, and each one is basically a cheat code for managing up. One of them, according to coach Dr. Kyle Elliott, gets your manager to "talk themselves into the problem before you have to point it out, which is a major win."

A few of these even double as workload protection, quietly ensuring that whatever happens to the bad idea, it doesn't happen to your calendar. If you've ever rehearsed a tough conversation in the shower and still chickened out, this one's for you.

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Care

Finally, the do-gooder robot we’ve been promised since The Jetsons

Less "rise of the machines," more "rise and shine, time for breakfast."

I think part of why we've run so enthusiastically into the AI conundrum we find ourselves in is because of the picture of the robotic future we've been sold in decades of sci-fi. Robots were meant to help! That's what I love about this story by Erik Barnes. It's the sort of robots-doing-good we were promised: a real machine, in a real home, quietly making two people's lives bigger.

That machine is "Robbie," a coat-rack-shaped robot now living with Brian and Brenda Marquis in New Hampshire. Brian has had dementia since a brain injury in 2012, and for years Brenda served as his memory, his reminder system, and his round-the-clock support. Then their service dog passed away, Brenda emailed a university, and a robot showed up to take the job. Robbie reminds, fetches, reads, and prompts, handling the small daily tasks that used to fill every hour. Brian's verdict? "It just really kind of set me free almost."

And Robbie's gifts go both ways. Brenda can now head out for mahjong with her friends without a flicker of worry, the kind of small, ordinary freedom that turns out to be everything. It matters more than ever: by 2034, Americans over 65 are expected to outnumber kids for the first time in U.S. history. Robots like Robbie might just be the future of care we actually want, the kind that makes a thriving, connected life possible a little longer.

And what did we learn?

Yesterday, we got into the psychology of cats and why they insist on lying on our keyboard while we try to work.

I had to ask, GOOD readers, what's your cat-and-keyboard situation? Over 40% of you live cat-free and thus can’t relate. Just shy of 30% of you though… you know my struggle.

• The cat is in charge and I work around it (29.3%)

• A gentle shoo works, the cat takes the hint (13.1%)

• My cat knows the drill and gives me my space (15.2%)

• No cats here, so my keyboard stays mine and fur-free (42.4%)

I guess it could be worse than a cat on your keyboard. GOOD reader J Tomalley has a different issue. “Instead I have parrots. They don’t overtake my keyboard, they just steal the keys.”

The Planet

Two generations, one suitcase-sized disagreement

Boomers book hotels, Gen Z books vibes.

It starts before anyone even leaves the house. Boomers approach a trip like a beautifully engineered itinerary: bucket lists, travel agents, the optimal season for cathedral-gazing. Gen Z approaches it like a dare from their For You page. One generation plans the trip; the other lets TikTok plan it for them. As Mark Wales reports, the gap only widens from there.

Take lodging. You might assume everyone wants a comfy bed near the action, but the two camps barely overlap, from RV parks on one side to hostels and the occasional van life experiment on the other. Even their souvenirs come from different planets, and one generation considers the classic gift-shop trinket an absolute no-go.

In all, there are four distinct battlegrounds where Boomers and Zoomers split, and at least one of them will make you feel personally called out, no matter which generation claims you. Because here's the thing: whether your getaway even counts as a vacation is apparently up for debate too.

On June 9, 1860, a New York publisher named Irwin Beadle put a slim, salmon-colored paperback on sale for ten cents and quietly launched an empire. The book was Malaeska: The Indian Wife of the White Hunter by Ann S. Stephens, and it became the very first American dime novel, the great-great-grandparent of every airport paperback you have ever finished on a flight.

Here is the deliciously unglamorous part. The book that founded an entire industry was not even new. Malaeska was a magazine serial Stephens had first published back in 1839, dusted off, slapped between flimsy covers, and sold under the irresistible pitch "A Dollar Book for a Dime." It worked spectacularly, moving tens of thousands of copies in a matter of months.

What Beadle proved was simple and a little bit revolutionary: cheap paper, a low price, and shameless advertising could put stories into millions of hands. That formula never really went away. From pulp magazines to drugstore romances to the paperbacks spinning on racks today, it all traces back to one ten-cent gamble.

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